


Paris Sounds Nice

by Raven_hart, The_Quiet_One



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jack is a butthole, Once again Crack, We decided to help Will Graham, We're on a ROLL!, Well technically he helps himself, Woo Hoo Hoo!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6241735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_hart/pseuds/Raven_hart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Quiet_One/pseuds/The_Quiet_One
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will says 'Fuck it!'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paris Sounds Nice

**Author's Note:**

> Me and Raven_hart have finally grown a backbone and are posting before we lose it. Wrote this one after watching "Rôti".

      All in all, it’s a normal day. The same noisy, narcissistic students, the same gruesome, menial slideshow of a solved case. Will, unsurprisingly, feels the same after the lecture: drained with a bit of nausea on the side. Only today there is an alteration, a disturbance in the form of a shadowed form lurking at the back of the hall. Will had felt him, of course, ignoring the interloper as the man clearly wasn’t here for educational purposes. Frankly, Will didn’t want to know. He didn’t care, or want to care. Though, from the agitated way the man walked Will might be forced to care, each purposeful step screaming of a man used to forcing his way.  
      “Mr. Graham. Special Agent Jack Crawford. I head the Behavioral Science Unit.”  
      “We’ve met.” _Good job, Graham. You just_ had _to acknowledge him._  
      “Yes. We had a disagreement when we opened up the museum.” Remembrance forces Will back a few steps, a watery caricature of marble steps and false smiles pinning clarity to the man before him.  
      “The, uh, Evil Minds Research Museum.”  
      “It’s a little hammy, Jack.” the man bristles in response, puffing up like an incensed tomcat.  
      “I see you’ve hitched your horse to a teaching post, and I also understand it’s difficult for you to be social.” _No shit, Sherlock._ The barbs barely prick, Will rolling his shoulders as he casts a longing glance at the door.  
      “Well, I’m just talking at them. I’m not listening to them. It’s not social.”  
      “I see. May I?” Will flinches back as the ma--Jack practically lunges at him, utterly disregarding personal space as he pushes Will’s glasses further up the bridge of his nose. _Rude._ Jack’s lips are moving before Will manages to pull himself together enough to decipher the sounds, “--fall on the spectrum?”  
      “My horse is hitched to a post that is closer to Asperger’s and autistic than narcissists and sociopaths.” _Yeah, I can play this game too, Jackass._  
      “But you can empathize with narcissists -- and sociopaths.” Will can feel a twitch starting, his right eyelid attempting morse code with a repetitive stream of ‘let me leave.’  
      “I can empathize with anybody. It’s less to do with personality disorder than an active imagination.” _I’m not crazy, thanks for asking. Can I go now?_  
      “Um, can I borrow your imagination?” It’s only a second, but suddenly the lecture hall around them collapses, Jackass fading away as another takes his place. The new form is aristocratic, diamond sharp cheekbones and wine-red eyes with a cheshire smile and fucking _antlers_ growing from his _head_. It-- _he?_ \--cocks its head to the side, reptilian, before scenting the air. Randomly the air around them coalesces into a grand dining room, gilded paintings and golden table settings with too many forks and spoons and the table bleeds _red_ , and the Thing grins manically from the other end of the table and Will just wants to _scream_ but instead he, with a grace he sure as hell doesn’t possess, scoops some red goop onto a fork and brings it up--  
      “Will?” Jackass is way too close again, barely fifteen centimeters away as he snaps his fingers in front of Will’s face. Will starts, badly, flailing around and practically punching Mr. Invasive in the face as he leaps back. Jack lets out an injured bark, hand flying to his nose as Will endeavors to put the podium between them. For a few seconds the air is charged, the two men breathing heavily.  
      “.....sorry?” Will ventures, jaw snapping shut when Jack waves it off.  
      “Just tell me your answer before either of us end up in the hospital.” Will opens his mouth, throat clicking. To come from the BAU means it something big, something important with a heavy helping of death and red tape. He could--the Thing comes immediately to mind, it’s presence almost gleeful as it stares through his mind’s eye.  
      “No.” The ringing syllable startles them both, Will backing away as Rude-and-Pushy straightens.  
      “No?” it’s dangerous, a deep rumble that promises pain and retribution. Will almost caves if it weren’t for the banquet he can still taste, decadence and decay piled high in shimmering rubies and broken glass.  
      “No.” it’s odd, how much a single word gave him strength. The storm in Jack’s eyes promised dark things, promises echoed by the creature made of jagged angles and ash beckoning in Will’s head. Will grins.  
      “People are _dying_ , Graham.”  
      “People are dying, they die every day. And you know what else?” It’s almost freeing, allowing the voice deep inside Will to dictate his actions for once. “I’m leaving.”  
      “Leaving?” Jack somehow manages a perfect marriage between threatening thunder and a disbelieving squeak, the bizarre result something Will wishes he could record.  
      “Yeah, Paris sounds nice,” and with that Will gathers his bag and papers, striding confidently past Jack and to the door, “don’t wait up.” He leaves, a bounce to his step he hasn’t had in...well, ever.  
      Back in the lecture hall Jack slumps, jaw slack in shock.

      “....Paris?”


End file.
